Dare and a Journey
by MissMandu
Summary: In which Mello must compete in Miss Winchester.
1. Established

_A/N: Somewhat AU. L died, Mello got involved in the Mafia, but he used his Mafia sources to consult Near, who became involved in the Mafia as well somewhat and then they kicked Kira's ass, whose last actions were killing off the Mafia, the SPK, and after that Ryuk had a thing for Mello and he asked Ryuk to kill of Kira, which he did. _

_It's complicated, but the thing is: Mello never meets Matt until later, Mello doesn't have a scar, Near and Mello do not like each other that way, Mello and Near are close friends now, and Near's "hiding" because he really missed Wammy's, but no way in HELL was he going to admit that. _

_Now…enjoy. _

_This little fucker beat me up and nibbled my brain during PE. _

_-:-_

1. _Established._

A regular day at Wammy's wouldn't have been considered normal anywhere else in the country. Or the world.

For one, kids getting caught for making explosives from potatoes were perfectly normal. Ten year olds learning calculus. The next da Vincis being cultivated in the art room. Geniuses discussing various topics.

Everything encased in a perfect mix of quaint and modern. The huge building, a beige-brown color with the primary wood being oak and mahogany, promoted neutral colors and then vibrant colors to encourage brain movement. There were at least five floors—seven if you counted the basement and the attic—and some of the brightest and the most talented minds had been cultivated here. Raised here.

And, in the middle of it all, a taxi pulled to a stop before the gates that led to what seemed like an epic land of grass, trees, and flowers; a vibrant—to say the least—blonde was quietly slipping out of the taxi, and after paying the driver, into the gates after muttering something into the Intercom at the gate before it buzzed open, making various high-tech locks to unlock.

Mello pushed the white metal open, and it caught the attention of the kids.

Once he stepped in…well, _that_ was when the explosive reaction occurred.

He more or less chose to come at the free time, when the majority of Wammy kids were outside.

"Mello, you finally came!"

"Hey, Mello!"

"Hi, Mels, how you doing?"

He grinned at the lot of them reluctantly—God, he loved these freaks, no matter how much he acted like he didn't—and looked around the orphanage, the one that he hadn't stepped foot in after what seemed like forever.

Kira was gone. He had to team up with Near to get the deed done, he had been alone for a long time, but he was gone.

He just needed to talk to his former co-HBDC (head bitch detective in charge), who he _knew_ was hiding here after all of the SPK members except them two were murdered.

Really, behind the cuteness, was an evil mind.

Behind the evil mind stood a little kid with abandonment issues.

The orphanage was almost just like he remembered, except for the few new members to the intelligent collection, and there was excited chatter circulating around the orphanage, explaining to the newbies exactly who he was and why he was favored over Near.

One: he was more social.

Two: he wasn't half as creepy.

And three: he had _motivation_. A dream. A goal. Something very much admired in the Wammy environment.

(Four: pretty much every. Single. Wammy kid—boy or girl, it didn't matter what their usual preference was—secretly or openly lusted after him, giving him a lot of practice for dodging hormone-induced stalkerish behavior he had to deal with in the real world, where it was worse. And even though he was a lot stronger than he looked, he wasn't that strong, but that didn't really count, since the members of the Mafia were just plain scary.)

That and the fact that he was a translator for various children who couldn't speak English yet, because, well, he was fluent in practically everything.

Language and words: that was his forte.

Also cursing, but that didn't matter in an orphanage full of little kids.

Not to mention that it was widely known that he and Near had solved the Kira case.

The hallways were a cream shade, and there was oak paneling. They replaced the carpet with oak as well, and the harder floor was victim to the sock-skating for kids who missed ice skating in the winter. The teachers gave him a small smile when he passed them, and Mello found major dejavu rather…comforting.

_This_ was his home, not a basement-esque place that stank of sweat, booze, lust (for him, _bleh_), and vomit.

Because things after Kira really did go back to the way it used to be. Right?

Eventually, he reached the door to Near's old room, the one where Near was hiding in. The door was white, and a gold _Near_ was embedded into it.

Mello tried to think between knocking (manners) and kicking open the door.

Mello kicked open the door, making Near look up briefly before going back to his book. That was when Mello scoffed, and he walked deeper into the medium-sized room, equipped with a small wardrobe (Near's clothes were thin, it didn't take up so much room), a bedside table, and a bed that was right besides the window.

The rest of the room was occupied by toys, and Mello attempted ignoring his fans, who had followed.

"You're _hiding_," Mello observed, picking the foil off of the chocolate bar.

Near looked up. "Hello, Mello."

"That rhymed."

But right now, instead of irritation, Mello was blissed out. Kira had been shown the door, and he and Near had taken turns beating the shit out of him before finally throwing him out with hard evidence.

Then that shinigami had killed him.

A _little_ bit of mourn, then he decided that the little fucker didn't deserve anything more than a slap in the face.

And _maybe_ looking so goddamn androgynous was helpful. Even though he hated to admit it, he _did_ look more like a girl.

Mello plopped down on Near's bed, content and fine now with the shy faces peering at him through Near's doorframe, staring at the white ceiling, noticing Near was ignoring the same faces and continuing their conversation.

"People have missed you," Near pointed out. The faces disappeared.

Mello shrugged and placed the chocolate bar on the bedside table. "People just like me."

Near opened his mouth to reply to that, but Mello interrupted him with, "Don't comment on that."

Near smirked a bit, and began stacking the Popsicle sticks he produced from under the bed. When the fuck did he procure those? The mental image of Near sucking on Popsicles was just…bizarre. "Did you miss Wammy's?"

Mello hesitated, then said, "Yeah. The…the constant feeling of safety, the constant feeling that someone—or some people—are there for me, that I'm not a freak for being fluent in eight languages when I was five…"

"That's why everyone loves this place," Near said.

"Is it the same reasons for you?" Mello asked, curiosity grabbing hold of his tongue.

"No," Near said. "I appreciate this place, but I didn't miss it or anything."

Mello nodded. "Yeah, the idea of you being homesick is kind of funny."

Near made a little noise of what seemed to be irritation and thankfulness. "Is this the reason why you hunted me down all by yourself?"

"Naw. I just missed your freakish ways to match my freakish ways."

"Touching," Near said, a bit of sarcasm in his tone.

"You're welcome." Mello closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze entering the room from the open window. "You know, I never realized how great this place was until I left."

"Safety is a strange thing."

"Yes it is. You don't like it until you leave it."

Near stayed silent, then said, "I like safety."

"I didn't. I kind of still don't. But knowing I'm not going to die suddenly here…Well, I could, but somehow I think I won't. Maybe being reckless helped."

Near snorted. "_Stupid_, you mean."

Mello sat up and glared at the white-haired boy. "_Reckless_ and _stupid_ are not synonyms."

"_Obvious idiocy_ is, however."

"My 'stupid' ways led to me stumbling into a locked bathroom while the lightsaber was scribbling down names watching portable TV news broadcasts pretending to be taking a dump from that public library when I was tailing him. I _knew_ he was in there, and you told me barging in would be stupid."

"It was," Near confirmed. "Stupid but effective."

Mello shook his mess of cornsilk blonde hair out of his eyes. Then when that didn't work, used his hands to shove it back.

"You always made fun of my looking 'girl-like.'"

"Take the air quotes off of _girl-like_ and you'd be onto something."

"Anyhow, how would you know what reckless is? You're so cautious that it's annoying.

"It saves my life," Near said, "and I am _cautious_. But while you are reckless, you aren't _that_ brave."

Mello laughed. "Yeah? Prove it. One dare. I'll do it." He was pacing now, idly looking out the window.

Near didn't say anything for a long time, and turned on the TV as he thought. Mello finished his fifth chocolate bar before Near finally said, "I have it."

Mello's eyes brightened up, making the few admirers who stayed despite the "creepy semi-albino germs" that could infect them was in the room squeal. He loved challenges, and he knew that Near's dare wouldn't be an easy one.

"Hit me," he demanded.

Near sighed. "You'll shoot me in the knee, though."

Mello tossed his gun to Near, who caught it. "There. So what is it?"

He was aware of his enthusiasm, and it made one of the girls at the doorway squeal again, who was made silent by her friend. Near and Mello ignored them.

Near chewed his lip, twirling his hair. "I dare you…"

Mello waited out the dramatic pause impatiently.

"…to enter as one of the contestants of Miss Winchester."

Mello stared, then laughed for a long time. "You have to be fu…"—Mello became aware of quick-learning minds by the doorframe—"—er, _freaking_—kidding me. I'm not a girl. Get that into your thick skull and stop joking around."

"But you could pass for one," Neat stated flatly. "And I'm also not joking. I'm serious. That's your dare."

"Alright, fine." An expectant, mischievous grin was conquering Mello's facial features. "I think it's going to be pretty fun. And fun_ny_."

Near's lip twitched for a second. "Is the dare on?"

"Oh, you bet the dare's on," Mello cackled. "Let's add a bet to it as well. If I win, you have to melt your robots. If I _lose_, then I have to be your bit—um, _maid_—or something for a week."

The audience at the door gasped. A collective gasp. How cliché.

"Two weeks."

"Week and a half."

"Done."

Because they were close friends now didn't mean they didn't enjoy trying to outdo the other. One of them succeeded? Great. One of them outstripped the other? You had to get even.

Like siblings. Loved them to death, but…

…you had a bone to pick with them. Constantly.

The audience had quadrupled and more were coming. They were all holding their breath.

With a handshake, the dare and the bet were established.

This would turn out to be the greatest and worst mistake the two geniuses would make in their life.

But they didn't know that _yet_.

_SO…_

_I was originally going to make it Miss America until I realized that Mello is not, in fact, American. _

_Shortish chapters; most will be five to six pages long. Suggestions for this will be appreciated. _

_Reviews are love._

_And love makes the world go round. _


	2. Chance Meeting

2. _Chance Meeting_

The first thing that Mello and Near quickly noticed was that things were almost exactly the same as if had been years before.

Which was, in a way, creepy and endearing and comforting at the same time.

Yet still Near was talking to Roger about the necessity of changes for the children to catch up with the rest of the world as Mello changed into jeans and a tee since, unfortunately, he needed to look unsuspicious and not hooligan-y in a quiet and quaint place like Winchester.

Oh. Fun.

Considering he was going to make his—or her now, if you considered it—face quite well known now, he decided that the less they noticed him _now_, the less they'd freak out _later_.

Near never said he couldn't really reveal himself after he _won_, of course.

The more he thought about it, the better idea the dare seemed to be—after all, he needed _something_ to quench his boredom, and boredom had been proven to be quite destructive—it was boredom that was to be blamed for the shinigami Ryuk and Light Yagami to have begun the whole Kira debacle.

Mello managed to slip out of Wammy's before the sun even went up; as in, before the mobs of the way-less-shy kids mobbed him and robbed him of any chance for sanity.

Or so he hoped.

Yet there were still at least three dozen eager faces awake and ready before five o clock.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked them.

"Shouldn't you?" returned a particularly freckled girl.

"I'm an adult—I can do whatever I want," Mello replied with a grin. He mussed up the girl's hair, who giggled and blushed. Mello guessed that she'd grow up to be pretty cute, when she grew out of her baby fat and her hair darkened a bit.

"Where are you going?" asked a pale blonde boy, inspecting the way Mello was dressed.

"Out for a walk," Mello answered.

"Tell us what happened to Kira first!" squealed the first girl, and the rest of the crowd began chattering, talking all at once.

"Hush," Mello said, putting a finger to his lips and widening his eyes. He had a reluctant soft spot for Wammy kids. He didn't like babies, but hell, little kids were just too damn adorable.

Especially people from Wammy. Maybe it was because he grew up there, or maybe there was something so goddamn lovable and endearing about five year olds who seemed so harmless on the outside but could be quite destructive in the inside.

"Roger and the other kids are sleeping," Mello whispered. The rest of the faces blinked up at him.

"Can we go in the conversation room, then?" asked another little girl, this time Asian. She had a slight Vietnamese accent as well. "It's soundproof, and Roger keeps it open at all times."

Mello smiled faintly at her. "Maybe later, but right now, I have somewhere to go."

The whining and the reaction was almost mind-blowing.

(Lie, but hell, he needed his space for a moment, getting used to anti-Kira world.)

Mello closed his eyes, composed himself, and tried again to pause the sound and stomping feet.

Extracting himself from the kids with the promise of stories later in an hour of day when it wasn't ungodly, Mello padded away down the hallways, the sheer size and comforting grandeur making his heart feel lighter and lighter.

He strolled away from the large orphanage, semi-hidden with trees and shrubs, closing the gate firmly. He thought that the electric fence was a tad too much, but Roger always had been overprotective of these smart but naïve children.

Once in a while, Mello was bitter—the same reason Near was and L definitely had been—that Wammy had taken away any chance of a normal life. School, crushes, panicking over finals and grades, getting married, having kids.

Well, he wasn't into the idea of actually getting a kid, but if it came with the Normal Life package…

At the same time, he was grateful as well—

(like Near and L were)

—that he was given a chance to be accepted instead of being labeled a freak. Besides, he had seen the college life.

Wammy's seemed a whole lot more hospitable.

He yawned as the cold dawn air hit him, not cutting into his skin but rather caressing it. Stretching his arms above his head and yawning again…

Mello tripped over a wayward branch.

"Shit!" he yelped as he fell, his hands automatically flinging out under him to catch his fall. He stood back up, hissing with pain—the scratches burned, damn it, and the skin on the heels of his palms were bleeding red.

After thoroughly inspecting it to make sure no dirt was in it, Mello held the more heavily bleeding hand and estimated himself to be about ten minutes away from Wammy's.

"Wait a minute, move over to the—!"

Then he was knocked to the ground by something.

What was it with him and inspecting the floor a little closer than he'd want?

Mello screamed, "What the hell?"

"Sorry, sorry!" yelled back the person. He was half on top of Mello, his bicycle's wheels still whirling, and scrambled to get himself off, stepping on Mello's fingers in the process.

Mello hissed in pain. The stranger wisely crab-walked away five feet.

Mello glared at the person, and got an eyeful of red hair and blue eyes that were swimming with apology.

Who was this person? In the twelve years he had at Wammy's House, he hadn't ever met someone who looked remotely like him.

_Must be a newbie_, Mello thought. The redhead stood up and picked up his bike, balancing it against a tree. And stuck out his hand.

"My name's Mail," he offered. "It's spelled M-a-i-l but it's pronounced like _mile_."

Mello stared at the hand, looked up at the dark blue eyes, and blinked a few times.

The redhead's cheeks burned as he took his hand back.

Smirking a bit, Mello stretched out his own hand, which the redhead took and shook, seeming a bit taken aback.

Mello realized that this Mail had a lot of potential for acting.

After their hands returned to their owners, the redhead—Mail—asked, "Do you know the way to Winchester Cathedral?"

Mello scoffed. "Winchester Cathedral? I know my place there blindfolded."

A bit of a hyperbole, but oh well.

"Oh. Well then, could you show me there? I'm visiting here for the summer, and my uncle's too busy to show me around."

"Don't you know not to follow strangers?" Mello asked. But before Mail could respond, Mello continued after a sigh. "Alright, follow me."

Mail took his bike from the tree and rolled it along besides him as he followed Mello, who walked his regular pace—slightly fast, best described as _brisk_—and looked at him curiously before braking the silence.

"You from around here?" Mail asked. Mello realized that Mail had an America accent.

"Yeah." Mello glanced at the redhead. "I went abroad for a few years, but I'm back now. What are you here for?"

"My uncle's making me do all this crazy stuff. To 'build my character,'" Mail quoted.

"That's…unfortunate."

His uncle sounded a bit like Roger.

As Mail began to tell tales about his uncle—most of which Mello drowned out—he inspected the countryside city he was so well acquainted with, the very place that he dreamed of and brought homesickness from.

The candy shop—the store owner knew Mello almost personally—was gone, and replaced with another one that Mello was sure he'd get close to. The library was still there, though the old librarian that yelled at Mello on several occasions was probably dead by now.

The cemetery didn't look half as haunting now than it did a few years ago, and the trees seemed larger, healthier. The flowers seemed more vibrant.

Mello decided he needed some time away from nature and take a few deep breaths—all these improvements of the already perfect town was making him a tad bit dizzy.

Eventually Mail ran out of stories—inevitable, no one could have _that_ many stories, except maybe Light Yagami, Near, L, and Mello—and they walked in silence. Mail became very interested in kicking at a grey, thumb-sized stone along the way.

Mello wasn't intimidated by the silence. After a few years of having guns pointing at you, nothing really scared you anymore.

"Well, Matt, here it is," Mello said, gesturing at the cathedral.

Mail blinked. "Thanks, but my name is—"

"I'm aware of what your name is," Mello dismissed. "You look like a Matt. I'll call you Matt."

Matt cocked his head. "What's _your_ name, then?"

"Mel…linda. Melinda Howard."

Mello made a mental note to tell Near to enter him as Melinda Howard.

"Oh. I thought that maybe…" Matt looked at the ground with burning cheeks.

"That I was a guy?" Mello hid a smirk by pretending to look at the stain-glass windows.

"You have this really…androgynous look, that's all," Matt said quickly, obviously trying not to insult Mello.

Mello bit his lower lip, willing himself not to chuckle.

Hell if he was going to say "giggle."

He wasn't willing to dwell _that_ far into the "girl" category; at least, not _yet_.

"Well then, goodbye, Matt," Mello waved, turning away from the freckle kid and beginning to walk away.

"Thanks again, Melinda," Matt called after him. Mello counted to ten, then turned his head just enough to glance at the entrance of the busy church. Matt wasn't there anymore, but…

Mello tried to banish the reason why he chose _Matt_ as a nickname for freckle kid (with _freckle kid_ being the other nickname)—he once had a kitten named Matt, eons ago, before he felt like his soul was already beyond saving.

Like all the others times he thought about anything that was even the most distant relative to religion, his hands reached for his rosary, only to find that he had snapped it and threw it into a lake long ago.

And as always, he pouted a bit.

On the lawn of Wammy's, Mello spotted Near sitting on a metal bench, with his signature blank puzzles. Mello strolled over to Near, cursing himself for missing the chance to see Near actually walking around.

Sometimes he suspected that Roger wheel chaired snowflake boy everywhere.

Mello plopped down on the bench and kicked Near's dangling leg—not gently, but not as strong as he normally would have. "Did you enter me yet?"

"Hello to you too, Mello," Near replied. Mello rolled his eyes as Near said, "No, I haven't yet, since I felt that you would have already given away some sort of alias."

…stupid intuitive son of a bitch…

"Melinda Howard," Mello drawled, swinging so that his feet were on the bench, some feet away from his head, which were on top of two slim, pale arms. "Hot name, isn't it?"

"…I've always thought that the name 'Melinda' _did_ have some kind of strange allure," Near admitted.

Mello shot up from his laying-down position. "Don't look at me like I'm hot."

Near rolled his eyes. Mello wondered about when Near would begin facepalming.

"I now you must _think_ that," Mello continued, wanting to milk this as much as possible, "but you know, I still have _some_ innocence left—"

"Not since you streaked around town with nothing but—"

"That was a _dare_," Mello said, defensive.

"So is the pageant thing." Mello noticed how Near wrinkled his nose at the word "pageant."

"Why the disgusted face, Near?" Mello asked, poking him. He felt like he was ten again, and Near eight.

"I've had some…bad experiences," Near murmured. Then he shut his lips into a firm line.

Mello's brain wasn't considered a genius level specimen for no reason.

"Let me guess," Mello said with a feral grin. "When you were young, before Wammy's, your mom decided that your family could do with extra money, disguised you as a girl, and submitted you into one of these things."

Near mumbled something incoherent, confirming Mello's theories.

"It's okay," Mello sighed. "I'm sure that none of the guys thought that you were _that_ cute… Although you've kicked _fluffy white kittens_ off of the cuteness scale."

"Shut up," Near scowled.

"Aw, don't be a sore loser…Or were you a winner?"

"I wish to not discuss my forced cross-dressing days," Near stated.

"Well, you'd remember something about it, because it'd be a lot of hard work to make _this_"—Mello gestured towards his thin frame—"to something remotely feminine."

"Hard work compared to breathing," Near said flatly.

Mello's jaw dropped open. "Ex_cuse_ me?"

Near's lip twitched. "You talk femininely as well—stereotypically, anyways—so we should have no problems at all."

"Fuck you, Near," Mello hissed.

"If you win," Near returned.

Mello stuck his tongue out at him. Near returned the movement.

"What is _up_ with you? Joking wasn't your kind of thing," Mello said, leaning back to admire the sky.

"The Kira case had been the most stressful thing in my life," Near said. "After it's over…One cannot blame another for wanting to 'loosen up.'"

"And making me pretend to be a girl was your idea of 'loosening up'?" Mello questioned.

Near blinked. "It was better than daring you to flirt with Roger for a month straight."

**Eh, funniness will happen more once Mello gets closer to Matt. **

**Pfft, someone get me a automatic face-slapper, I'm going to go silly with the sense of humor I decided fit Mello the best. **

**School ends June fifth, wewt. **


	3. Unfortunate Coincidence

3. _Unfortunate Coincidence: _

The next day was _not_ pleasant for Mello.

This was a fucking _beauty_ pageant, for Chrissake—they had to have a mandatory meeting at _seven in the fucking morning_?

But what the hell. He was Melinda Howard—for the time being—now, and Melinda had to drag her androgynous ass over to wherever the hell it was at and live with it.

For now.

Mello already had an ingenious way of ending the pageant thing—he decided it on calling it The Cause (as in, The Cause for His Agony) until it was flipping _over_ already—and while he would love having dwelled on it further, Near was yanking at him, trying to get him to wake up.

And because Near was _so innocent_, details about Near and Mello's little bet/dare/boredom killer had spread over the orphanage, making Roger frantically arrange a cookie day to bribe orphans to not let word escape the orphanage. Roger, as much as he hated to admit it, was curious about the outcome of this little thing as well.

Mello fucking hated everybody at six in the morning.

Near had, oh-so-considerately, bought several dresses and "girl monstrosities" (as Mello called them) while Mello had crashed for the rest of the day yesterday.

Adjusting to a whole new time zone was hard.

Just ask Mello.

Mello ,still, managed to make his way around his childhood room (well, not exactly ­_childhood_; he never had the luxury of childhood. He had been an adult since he was very, very young, watching his parents die in murder). Very bleary-eyed, and cursing Near and time zones in fluent babbling of curse words.

Near thoughtfully closed the door so that the rated-R words wouldn't leak out of the room, into the hallway, and crawl its way into innocent ears.

Mello managed to wake himself up after a shower and was towel-drying himself when Near threw the first dress at him. Quite hard for such a small boy-man.

"I cannot _believe_ this," Mello murmured, then frowned. "I'm not wearing a fucking _dress_ on the first day I'm supposed to be Melinda."

"Technically, the first day you were Melinda was yesterday," Near pointed out in the annoying, eye-twitch inducing way. "But I suppose it _would_ be somewhat of a stretch."

Near went over to a box (what the fuck, a _box_?) of the girl monstrosities and gave a little half-hearted push towards him. "Here, go ahead."

Mello shuffled his way over rather cautiously, then looked inside. And gave a sigh of relief and amusement.

It was what he would have worn if he had been born without a dick, but a _way_ more toned-down version. Denim replaced much of the leather, and softer fabrics were added, like satin and silk.

Cotton was pushing it a bit, but what the hell.

Near was sitting on the bay of the window, looking down at the kids down below who had gotten up especially early to watch the rising sun.

Mello considered it fortunately that he had someone with cross-dressing experience; it saved him from the pain of trying to learn on his own.

"I am _not_ wearing girl underwear," Mello announced.

Near rolled his eyes, the freakishly large grey eyes taking a trip up north. "Suit yourself, but you have to compromise in some way. Wear shorter boxers or something."

Mello, grumbling to himself about annoying and perverted albinos (at least, he _assumed_ it was albinism) sifted through the stuff that Near had gotten in record time.

"How did you get all this shit without making it seem weird?" Mello asked, pulling out a short white denim skirt and a pair of bright yellow tights. He wanted to humor Near.

"I gave Linda your measurement and she found the sizes. She greatly enjoyed the trip," Near said, sounding a tad bit amused.

Leave it to Near to not know the stereotype blonde.

Er, blonde _girl_.

Finding a top to go was harder, but Mello found a white tank-top like thing with yellow ribbons for straps. It was _so_ bad, but Mello already missed the color black.

And of course, black was hardly found in the box.

"Had to get me bright colors, didn't you?" Mello muttered accusingly to Near.

"_Melinda_ doesn't sound like a goth name to me," Near replied.

"I'm not—"

"If you were wearing the girl equivalent to the clothes you wear, it would seem very much like the goth subculture, and it would seem odd for a gothic person to be in a pageant," Near retorted.

Mello gave up. "Alright, fine."

He was _not_ wearing high heels on day two.

However, flats were fine.

Then he noticed a problem. "Near, I don't have a chest," he reminded him.

"It's alright. Some women are flat."

"I'm curious. What was your name when you attended these kinds of things?"

Near was silent, then said, "Natalie Christine Rivermore."

"Wow. Fancy." Based on his real name, how predictable.

"My parents had planned on naming me Christine if I had been a girl."

"Oh."

"And you, Mello? If you had been a girl, what would your parents have named you?"

"Some bizarre Slavic female name like Mira."

"Doesn't 'Mira' mean 'peace'?"

"Yeah, seems ironic, doesn't it?" Mello had been buying time, looking at himself in the mirror; the strange sight of him in bright colors never went away, even after about five minutes of staring. "Alright, I'm done. Just don't hit on me," he warned.

Near murmured something and turned to face him. His lip twitched up for a moment too long.

"What?" Mello said defensively, putting both hands on his hips.

"The sight of you in bright colors is…quite strange," Near admitted.

"Yeah, I know. Mello hissed in frustration. "Could you have al least told Linda to get more muted colors?"

"Like pale pink?"

"_No_, like pale grey or something."

"I—"

"_You_ may be used to cross-dressing," Mello growled, "but _I'm_ not."

Near sighed and went over to the box. "The darker colors are on the bottom. Look for it." Near went back to the bay of the window, clearly enjoying the fact that Mello hadn't thought of fishing through the clothing more thoroughly.

Smug like _bastard_.

Mello, after giving Near a glare sharp enough to cut through a diamond, pulled off the current clothes.

"You're a closet pervert, aren't you?" Mello asked as he pulled on a short sleeved shirt with a black owl that looked like it was printed on with a stamp, then glossed over. "There aren't any pants, only skirts."

"Blame Linda, not me. I did think I saw her drawing pictures of crossdressers in her sketchbook. She has a crush on you, you know."

"I'm aware of that." Mello found a black (yes!) skirt that was…what was it called, tiered? Well, it _sounded_ right, and Mello pulled it up over the shirt. "Hm. Still, you have to be a pervert in order to think of something like this."

Near was silent, then said, "Well, there _is_ a purpose for this."

"What do you mean?"

Near didn't reply, only said, "Done yet?"

"Pretty much." Mello found black flats—ah-_ha, _something black—and pulled them on. Near had turned around, and Mello ignored him, focusing on tying the ribbons on the flats into bow. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. Then he turned towards the full-length mirror. "Hm. I _do_ look like a girl. A pretty hot one," he added, throwing Near a cocky grin.

Near lifted both eyebrows and threw a headband towards Mello. "I'm just glad that it is warmer now. It would somewhat explain your short hair."

Mello ran a hand through his hair, examining the ends. "You should recruit Linda. She reads enough of those ridiculous magazines to be your assistant."

Near grinned, and it was…ominous. "Good idea."

"_What_? God, I was fucking _joking_," Mello said quickly, wide eyes already widening even more. "She has a crush on me, she'll try to—"

"Calm down, Mello," Near said evenly. "She knows ore about this than either of us."

Mello pouted—er, _frowned_—and crossed his arms. "Fine. Why am I doing this?"

"To prove yourself?"

"I guess so." Mello slid on the headband. "Just be glad my thing for bangs was fairly recent. My hair looks somewhat like a girl's, even though my pageboy phase died."

Near had ignored him and had went over to the telephone on the bedside table. Knowing what was coming next, Mello plopped down on the bed and awaited the inevitable.

Near had put it on speakerphone. Linda picked up after the third ring with a chipper, "Hi, Near. What's up?"

Near explained the circumstances to Linda (he forgot a lot about cross-dressing, Mello refused to admit he knew anything on it, but he really didn't), who seemed excited by the idea.

Um. Not _that_ kind of excited.

He hoped.

Linda laughed. "Sure, I'm only ten minutes away… I needed to give Roger the painting I promised him."

"It's dangerous to talk on the phone while driving," Near said.

"I have one of those earphone things where the microphone is attached to it… Hey, Mello's hair is still long, right? Because that'll make it a whole lot easier. Is he still skinny? What am I saying, of _course_ he is, that lucky bastard… I saw his measurements. I bet he hated the clothes, huh?" She snickered.

"I found some decent ones, thanks," Mello bit out. Linda became silent.

"Near," she said slowly. "Am I on speaker?"

Mello grinned. "Hi, Linda."

Linda sighed. "I _hate_ you, Near."

Near was keeping a straight face. "Very well, Linda. Please come quickly, for we have twenty minutes before he must attend the meeting." Near hung up.

"She's _still_ annoying," Mello muttered, fishing for a jacket of some kind. It looked slightly chilly, just enough for a jacket. Near, the perceptive asshole, threw him a soft black (how the hell did they manage to find the black clothing _after_?) mass of cloth or whatever.

It was the most softest thing Mello had ever come in contact with.

Softer than L's love for treats, even.

Remembering his fallen idol, Mello banished all memories of L and slipped it on, just as Linda threw open the door, huffing.

"Why is your room so high up?" she complained. Then she found Mello. "Oh. Who's this? Near," she said with a smile to the sitting boy, "did you get a girlfriend?"

"How about we stop talking as if I'm not standing here?" Mello snapped. Linda's mouth dropped open to an _O_ of understanding. Then she started to laugh.

"Sorry, Mello," she chuckled. "It was kind of bizarre to see someone who looks so feminine talk in such a deep voice…"

"I'll show you what'll go deep down your throat," Mello muttered, but blushing at being called _feminine_. Goddamn that Near, brining unnecessary people into this.

Linda's hands found his hair in the next three seconds. "Your hair looks good like this; we don't have to change it." She titled his face up, examining it. "You could use some makeup," she decided.

Mello gaped.

"Whoops, that sounded like an insult," Linda said with a shrug. Near, content with the leadership being out of his hands, worked on a Rubik's Cube. "Hey, until Near buys some for you, you can use mine." She went to her purse—an amazing size for someone who was small as, say, Misa Amane but less bubbly—and pulled out a much smaller purse-thing. "Um…Your lashes are long enough, but…" She shoved a frightening-looking object to Mello's eye.

Which he ducked.

And avoided.

"It's _mascara_," she said, exasperated. "_You_ do it, then."

Mello shook his head. "No way in hell."

Remembering Mello's language, Linda shut the door. "Come on, please?"

"Maybe I would have considered it," Mello snapped, "if you didn't purposely buy mostly clothes that you _knew_ was the opposite of what I would have worn."

Linda frowned. "Fine. Eyeliner?"

Someone suddenly pinned him down onto the mattress. While Near held his head in a surprisingly firm grip, Linda sat on him and attacked his eyelids with the foreign object.

"I feel so _violated_," Mello groaned.

"Stop whining." She pulled back and handed him a tube of…What was that? Mello looked closely at it, and Linda took that opportunity to swipe his lips with something stick. He pulled back, disgusted, until the fruity scent hit him.

Ew.

Fruity.

"Live with it," Linda snapped, seeing his obvious disgust. "You wipe it off, glitter gets all over your face, _and you_ make a fool of yourself. Come on, we have ten minutes to get to Winchester Church."

Mello decided that if Near had been born a hormonal girl, he would have been exactly like Linda.

Still, he complied. And saw that Linda was staring at him.

"What?"

"Bring your vocal tone up, just a little bit…"

He sighed, and after deciding he was (unfairly) outnumbered, he said, in a higher and sweeter tone, "Like this?" It was the same tone he had used on Matt, and it had worked, after all.

Linda grinned. "Perfect. I'll drive you to Church, come on."

Mello had a feeling that this was going to be a long, _long_ dare.

-:-

Mello decided that it wasn't _his_ sin that he was crossdressing—it was Near's.

The thought of praying for the anti-Christ made a laugh escaped his throat as he crossed himself with the holy water by the entrance.

He followed Linda and Near to the seats, and was about to consider yanking Near's hair when something caught his eye.

Unnaturally red hair.

Holy _shit_.

Mello lowered his head, hiding his face with his pale blonde hair as his heartbeats quickened. Why the hell was _Matt_ here?

He refrained from cursing—he was in _Church_, after all—but nudged Near, who was studying his behavior. "That redhead, by the entrance. I ran into him yesterday."

"Does he think you are male?" Near whispered.

"No, but—"

"Then you'll be fine. Sit up."

Mello hissed but obeyed, and looked right at the alter. But, of course, a finger lightly tapped his shoulder. "Hey, is that you?"

Mello turned around, trying not to grimace. "Hi, Matt."

Matt was grinning, and seated himself behind Mello. _Perfect_. Mello turned back around and rolled his eyes.

"I didn't know you were the type to sign up for these kinds of things," Matt mused.

"I'm not. My cousins here"—he gestured to Linda and Near—"made me."

"Oh. Well, it isn't so bad," Matt assured him.

_You have no idea_, Mello thought bitterly.

The judges—a fat man, a tall thin man, and a man in between—were taking turns taking role call for those who had signed up. Mello leaned in towards Near.

"You submit the form?"

"Just last night."

Mello puffed a blast of air to blow his bangs upwards. He had been hoping Near had forgotten, but…

Oh yeah. Genius.

Near was a fucking _genius_.

Mello jumped when Near lightly kicked him when one of the judges—the fat one—said, "Melinda Howard?"

"Here," Mello said, adjusting to his new voice at the last millisecond. The thin man was ogling him. Mello brushed off the feeling of being undressed.

The fat man handed the clipboard to the next judge without batting an eye. _Good_. So they didn't look at him like, "Is that a guy in a skirt?" but more like, "I wish that bitch would _die_."

Mello smirked, self-satisfied, and leaned back. It felt good to incite some jealousy.

He accepted that _girl_ was a horribly good look on him.

The in-between man read off the next name, and Matt was tapping on her shoulder again.

"Yeah?" Mello twisted his head around.

Matt leaned forward. "Watch out for that girl," he said under his breath. "Malia Davey. You see the thin judge? She's his daughter. The most unpleasant girl I had ever had met…"

_Oh_. This much was obvious—Matt wanted him to win. Mello was smiling again, and asked, "What are you doing here, by the way?"

He turned red at the question. "I'm like the judges' assistant. This is what I get for setting off a fire alarm at my boarding school."

Before Mello could ask him to tell him the story, the thin one—Mr. Davey—said, "Mail, come here, and confirm the dates for the media."

Mail—_Matt_—got up quickly and scampered to the alter. Mello decided he didn't like Mr. Davey already.

But he still smiled sweetly when Mr. Davey looked his way _again_

**AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…! **

**8D **

…**Pfft, let me have my fun with Mello. xD **

**And yes, Matt/Mail has a crush on girl?Mello. **

**No spoilers. : ) **

**Chapter title from…what? **

**A Dorothy Parker poem. :D **

**But the actual poem has nothing to do with the fic. This is purely for fun. Fun and fluff and mild crack, nothing dark and twisted like I'm tempted to make it. Because. I'm like, one-third goth, one-third girly, and one third nerd. :P **


	4. Petty Questions

_Eh, I feel like a little cheater doing this, but I'm going to write in first person point of view—Mello's, of course. Bear with me. Also, I know _nothing_ on Kate Moss's supposed salad diet. That was made up_.

4. _Petty Questions_

There were a few very valuable pieces of information I got out of the mandatory meeting.

One: John Davey was a bastard. And a man-whore. The man was married—with a daughter, but I'll get to her later—for about sixteen years, and yet he kept hitting on me, in which I politely declined.

Which was kind of funny, considering I wanted to shoot him instead. But since Linda and Near, my "cousins," made me leave the gun at Wammy's, all I could do was imagine and grin happily throughout the whole time.

Two: There were three categories we had to go through. One too many, in my opinion. First was modeling (I tried _very_ hard not to laugh, and failed, but successfully disguised my snort as a cough), then an interview/trivia (too easy, too easy), and lastly, talent.

I had half a mind to do pole dancing.

Hey, it was a legitimate sport—articles existed.

The third and the most unfortunate of all was Malia Davey, John Davey's sixteen year old daughter. It was strange how I didn't notice her first thing I stepped into church. Her glares were fixed on me—obviously jealous—and she kept asking her cronies who looked better, me or her.

I had to nibble on my lip and think horrible thoughts—the outlawing of chocolate, Wammy's going up in flames, Kira coming back from the dead, Roger with dreadlocks—to prevent from smirking.

Lastly, there was Minnie. One of the Wammy kids, with Roger entering her. She might have been the prettiest out of all contestants if Malia and I hadn't been there.

Yes, Malia was pretty, but let's admit it—I was _way_ hotter than she was, boy _or_ girl.

Minnie was, no doubt, one of the sweetest girls I had ever encountered. And not the fake, too-sugary sweet, but the sincere sweet. She was one of the few that had left me alone when I had come back, and pretty much the only one who tried to get Near into participating in social activities. I had a decent conversation with her one time, and it had been about kittens.

Hey, don't judge.

Her reason for competing was completely unrelated to mine, though. The Daveys wanted to win for the cash—five hundred thousand pounds—for themselves. Minnie wanted to send all of that for the grandparents that hadn't wanted her.

Like I said, sweet girl.

She also knew I was really a boy, but understanding, she didn't show the slightest sign of snitching.

I considered hooking her up with Near but decided she didn't need the psychological damage caused by his presence.

How do you think I ended up the way I am now?

We also had a week before The Cause (The Madness, The Agony) began. It was luckily very short, about three days in all.

…three days too long, in my honest opinion.

Then again, when have I been not honest?

Besides the whole pretending-to-be-a-girl, that is.

Hey, it was only a joke, don't look at me like that.

Once the meeting was over, Near nudged me and murmured, "Linda and I have decided that you are not feminine enough."

I raised my eyebrows, pretending to be surprised. "_Wow_, I didn't know _that_!"

Near glared for a moment before continuing. "Therefore, Linda and I have agreed that, for the whole week before _this_"—he was avoiding the term _pageant_ like I was; hell, it was an excruciatingly disgusting word, seriously—"begins."

My jaw dropped. "A whole _week_?"

Some of the people praying gave me the stinky eye. I lowered my voice considerably, taking care to keep it at a slightly higher pitch. "Well, cousin dearest, _I_ say that—"

"I think she's feminine," pitched in a sheepish Matt, whose gaze dropped once he realized we had heard. "Oh, did I say that out loud? I-I meant—"

Deciding to have my fun, I turned around and smiled sweetly, batting my eyelashes. "Thanks for standing up to me, Matty."

Linda pretended to vomit into her purse.

I decided to hide her best paints as revenge.

Matt failed to answer and disappeared by sliding lower down the pew seat.

Near's hidden smirk didn't escape my notice. Hot damn, he really _was_ loosening up.

Most of the contestants were gone by now, and Near, Linda, and I stood up. I was damn smart, smarter than anyone here but Near, so it wasn't exactly hard to work out that Matt was using _anything_ as an excuse to stay here long enough until we left.

Like, pretending to pray, for example.

Praying for better ideas?

Like I had assumed, when we left, he hastily crossed himself and trailed after us. I decided that the poor guy needed a break and told Near and Linda, with a not-quite-stealthy Matt eavesdropping, "I'm going to walk. I kind of missed this place. Nature and all, you know?"

Linda grinned. "Show of your 'feminine' assets to the town, will you?"

Her air quotes slipped past everyone but me and Near, the latter who hid a smirk by pretending to scratch his cheek.

Hello, when did _Near_ begin to feel itchy?

Never.

Well, except that one time when we found out he was allergic to walnuts.

That boy was allergic to pretty much everything. Penicillin, nuts, bee stings…

Linda and Near took the car again. Supremely glad I hadn't chosen that day to have tried out heels when I needed to walk a mile, I started my way to the road when I heard Matt call out, "Wait!"

Ahh, about time.

"Ye-es?" I purred, facing him. Matt was one of those people whose blushes showed easily. Which was prominent now.

"Um, c-can I walk you home?" he asked, stuttering. "I mean, it's really hot now, you could, uh, get heatstroke or something, and then you'd need someone to call for help."

What a pitiful excuse.

But that guy…He really did need a break. "Well, I'm pretty tough, but I'd enjoy the company," I allowed.

Shit. Home. Wammy's House. Way too easy to find out my true gender.

Ah, I'd think of something.

A plan already formed in my well-oiled mind.

Matt's eyes lit up, and he and I began to make out way towards the more town-y part of town. "Hey, can I ask you a few petty questions?"

"How petty?" I inquired, glancing at him. Hmmm, he _was_ pretty cute…

I found out that I was bi long ago, so what?

"Very petty," he decided.

I grinned. "I like petty."

Most of my best arguments came from petty incidences, anyways. Like the time the Mafia hangout's AC broke in the middle of July. _That_ was one hell of a tantrum, I admit.

After a beat, he asked, "What's your favorite color?"

I giggled. Yes, _giggled_. I was going to do this right, remember? "Are you serious?"

He laughed too when he realized I hadn't asked that last question in a snobbish way. "I warned you it'd be petty."

I considered for a moment, then said, "Black."

"Technically, that's not a color. It's the absence of color, really."

So I frowned and said, "Navy blue. Then grey."

There you have it.

Curious, he said, "Why?"

"They were the colors of my old room," I said. It was true, though—my bedroom when I was five through ten was mainly navy blue and grey. "What about your room?"

He fidgeted, then said, "Pale yellow. With pink."

I asked silently.

"They thought I'd be a girl," he muttered, then laughed out loud. "It's funny, really, how not one doctor out of twenty they went to could figure out I would be a guy."

"What would your name have been if you were a girl?"

"Matilda. Worse name ever, I know. Although Mile isn't any better." Then he shifted his eyes away from me. "I like 'Matt' a lot better."

Collective _aww_, anyone?

Come on, don't be shy.

"Your parents," I said, "have horrible tastes in names."

"Actually," he sighed, "they're dead."

Oh.

Well, this was awkward.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, and meant it. "My parents died not long ago, too."

Actually, they died when I was five.

"I'm sorry," he said, repeating me. Then he coughed. "Um, this is awkward."

"It is," I agreed. "How about asking me the next petty question?"

He thought—or rather, pretended to think—then asked, "What's your favorite sweet?"

Too easy.

"Chocolate," I answered without hesitation. "That may be a cliché, considering I'm a girl and all, but…Hell, the dark stuff is great."

"If you were a guy, what name would you have wanted?"

"Matt," I said with a beaming face. "I named pretty much all of my toys Matt."

"Even me?" he joked.

"Not you," I promised. Then I realized we were getting too close to Wammy's House.

In which I said, "Hey, I need to go off on my own now."

He seemed confused that I had ended such a great conversation suddenly. "Why?"

"My roommate has a brother that's staying with is right now," I explained. "He has this big-brother thing around me—he's gay, by the way," I added, to bring back relief in Matt's face, "—and if he sees me with _any_ guy, he'd rip your throat out."

I should have added _girl_, but what the hell.

"Alright," he sighed, clearly disappointed the road home wasn't longer. "By the way, Mr. Goodman and Mr. Romano wants to meet you tonight. I don't know why, but they told me to tell you."

"Where?"

"Here, actually." He gestured around where we were standing. "At six, they said. Six at night, that is."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

I began to walk away, aware of a certain pair of cow eyes bearing a hole into my retreating form.

Damn it, if I didn't watch it…

-:-

An hour before six, Near told me the most horrible news I've heard in my entire life.

Okay, that was a hyperbole, but still, it was pretty darn bad.

"_What_?" I screeched, throwing a hardcover book at him, which he neatly dodged. "What do you mean, I 'can't have chocolate'?!"

Near didn't even flinch. No wonder why Linda hadn't done it—she would have ran away from the room screaming before she even spoke a word to me, knowing how I would respond.

Linda crept into the room. "Well, chocolate has a high caloric content, and—"

"Screw 'caloric content,' I have the metabolism of Kate Moss, dammit—"

"Kate Moss practically survives on salads," Linda scoffed.

"How would _you_ know?"

"Interview," she stated

"And you've been reading those useless magazines…why?"

"For you, dumbass. We really do need to catch up on the contemporary 'pretty girl' thing."

I snickered, "Just look at Near for it."

Linda grinned and gave me a high five.

Maybe she wasn't _so_ bad.

If it wasn't fore the banning of chocolate, that is.

"I'll be a cranky bitch by the time interviews and shit comes around for the…thing," I defended. "How would _that_ seem?"

Near pitched in, "There is a legitimate reason why you cannot be a 'cranky bitch,' Mello."

Before I could ask what the "legitimate reason" was, Linda said, "Look, Near and I know your pride more than you do. It comes with the 'childhood classmate' package. We all know that you put your pride and wants before almost anything else, and that the only way to do things is _your_ way."

I grinned. "Wow, how'd you figure _that_ out?"

She ignored me and continued. "The thing is, we can't risk anything on you losing—"

"Why?"

"—and the reason will be thrown at you soon. But until then, _please_, just do what Near and I tell you."

I huffed and crossed my arms. "I hate being the last to know something."

"You hate being anything but first," Near corrected.

"Which is why, if you want to win and be _first_, you should listen to us."

I looked from Near, to Linda, to Near again.

Damn, I was trapped.

Even the window was shut.

"Alright," I gave in. "I'm not going to like it, and I'm going to take out my frustration out on you two."

That wasn't a lie, and that wasn't going to be the _only_ other thing I was going to do to them—another plan to seriously scare them was forming in my mind.

Heh heh.

Linda kicked the chair I was sitting in. "Anyhow, Near and I are going to teach you how to walk—"

"To talk—"

"—to greet and answer—"

"—and to control your temper," Near concluded.

"Although a couple of more things are going to be added in," Linda admitted, "on things we haven't quite studied about you yet."

"His manners are actually quite considerable," Near told Linda, "if it is called for."

Whatever.

I was too busy thinking of the things I would need to scare them.

Pink. Lots of pink. Embroidery hoop, embroidery needle, embroidery floss… Hell, anything related to embroidery. Most importantly, I would need—

"Mello, are you listening?" asked an irritated Near. Then her eyes locked with mine. "Uh-oh. I don't like that manic gleam."

"What manic gleam?" I asked, quickly pushing the revenge thought to the back of my head. "Go on."

While Linda rambled on, I bit my inner cheek to keep from laughing.

**What's his plan…? **

**If you've been a stalker on my LJ account you would know, but other than that…eh. ^^**

**I've been on a writing break, sorry! Then I got the final (really final) plot idea for my school play next year.**

**Review? **


	5. Think Pink and First Dates

_5. Think Pink and First Dates:_

_I don't even know if Winchester is big enough to have a carnival. And also, I apologize for a flashback. And personally, I like whole grain way better. Or multigrain. White bread doesn't taste good to me. Also, watch out for some first date clichés. I couldn't help the Ferris wheel cliché. I love it too much. And also, I made my minimum word count 2,500. _

I threw myself down onto the pile of fluffy pillows—my not-so-guilty pleasure—and focused more on the book in front of me.

Didn't seem so hard. I already had about twenty stitches memorized/

Linda poked her head into my room at about…oh, I don't know, an ungodly hour. "Hey Mello, do you—" She stopped when she saw me, mouth dropping open.

I lifted my eyeballs to meet hers. "Yeah?"

She blinked, her mouth still not closed. "A-aren't you taking things a bit too far with…this?"

This time, I blinked—but this time, innocently, not confused like she was. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she sighed, still looking a bit jittery, "with _this_."

She gestured towards the white, thin curtains trimmed with eyelet lace, the pale pink bedspread, giant, full-length, ornately carved mirror, and the other various over-the-top girly things I had gotten.

She was freaked out by this.

Heh, heh, heh.

Thank you, various girls who had crushes on me and went shopping for me after I gave them the money.

And thank you, Wammy allowance I hadn't touched in years because I had mooched off the mafia.

Most of all, thank you, the color pink.

I hid my grin behind my book on embroidery stitches. "I always knew that, if I was born a chick, I'd be like this, so…Eh, why the fuck not?"

Linda seemed at unease when she saw the title of my book. "Embroidery?"

"Yeah." I turned to my stomach.

"You're wearing your Melinda clothes…at Wammy? Why?"

"Skirts are damn comfortable." I kicked my foot up so my knees dug into the bed—comfy, fluffy bed; I must have had a fetish for fluffy things or something—a little more, exposing what I had to admit were prettier calves than Linda's. Or any girl's, for that matter.

They were feminine. Too feminine.

If I didn't watch it, I was going to have an identity crisis.

I readjusted the big Alice bow headband on my head and turned to her, setting my feet down on the floor. "You came to talk to me about something?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. Do you like white bread better or whole grain bread?" she asked, unwillingly admiring the curtains.

If I had a daughter, I would have stuck those curtains into her room as well.

"Whole grain," I said, and went back to photographically memorizing the featherstitch.

"How was the meeting with Mr. Romano and Mr. Goodman?" Linda inquired to try to get her mind off my suddenly much more feminine, odd-and-off behavior. She knew fully well that I detested whole grain.

It grew on me, but she didn't need to know that.

I grinned.

And although flashbacks are a pet peeve of mine, I'll still do one:

-:-

No matter what, if Linda or Near choose for me, I was pretty much clueless. On picking girl clothes, that was.

Damn, one more thing that Near was better than me at.

But currently, I put that annoying thought away for a much bigger dilemma: what the fuck to wear. They left just ten seconds ago as well, and five seconds into digging through the closet—yes, we moved my clothes in—I found out that I had the clichéd problem.

The glare of the glossy fashion magazines that Linda had gotten were burning holes in my back. I caught my eyes flitting to them once every few milliseconds.

Thirty seconds into the dilemma, I had given in and began flipping through, actually skimming, though I hated skimming. I believed that writing was meant to be thoroughly enjoyed, not skimmed. But it did have its benefits—like finding about five articles on finding what looked good with what coloring/body type/event in ten minutes out of all four magazines.

Scarily enough, Kate Moss was in one of them.

Dear Lord.

Three minutes after, I managed to reduce the ever-growing clothing black hole enough to find the _only combination _that happened to work, according to the carbon-copy them.

But since this was like, what, day three, of my girl persona, I decided that it would be risky to try to develop my "own style" so soon.

Hey, it looked harder than it seemed.

Mr. Romano and Mr. Goodman. I could assume pretty safely that it would be somewhat formal, or at least not too casual, so I decided to risk trying to curl my hair.

I only had a straightener, though, the one Linda had left for me. But after staring at it, then at myself in the mirror, and somehow knowing that the clothes would look really complete if it _curled my hair, dammit_, it occurred to me how to use it to curl my hair.

My goddamn long hair that I found several nine year olds trying to steal strands of. What, to make a love potion? Or a voodoo doll? Anyways, it was scary.

I sprayed the heat protectant stuff, feeling a little awkward, then gripped a bit of my hair, pulling it away from my head. This straightener heated up damn fast, luckily enough, so I gripped the part close to my roots and angled it away from my head and face. Then I gently pulled it along the length of my hair, then await anxiously as it fell down.

Curl.

A_ha_.

Grinning triumphantly, I fixed the curl and gathered it into my hand to hairspray it.

It was pretty easy after that.

With three minutes to spare.

I felt like I was going to get pretty good with the whole girl thing. Was that good or bad? In the current situation—The Cause—it was a good thing.

Still, I made a mental note to Google tutorials on whatever skills I might need.

Only the really big companies got their selves made into a verb. Like Facebook. _Hey, I'm going to Facebook until dawn!_ Or, _Twitter me, babe_.

The last example being supremely weird.

I threw whatever stuff into my bag and began crawling out the window, my foot catching onto the first step of the ladder that connected my room to the floor, and began climbing down.

"Wait! No, Mels!" someone yelled, loud and sudden enough to startle me enough to lose my footing.

_Shit, _this was going to hurt.

Instead of getting a _very_ unwanted close-up of the grass, however, I had the wind get knocked out of me, then felt my feet land in the soft grass. Grass was nice to feel when, you know, you weren't getting a fuckload of it in your face.

Please don't ask me how I know. I don't want to remember, but it involved an ice-encrusted ladder before mentioned and a clueless me.

I was trembling a bit, wondering how the hell I kind of stopped midair, when my head cleared enough to see a _very_ concerned Matt holding both my shoulders, cursing.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I just kind of panicked when I saw you going out the window, I didn't know there was a ladder, and thought you were trying to jump, and—" he started to babble without thought, all apologies, when I shook my head.

"It's fine. How did I end up fine, anyways?" I asked.

I needed to know if I was the Chosen One or something.

He seemed sheepish suddenly. "I kind of…caught you. Well, not really, but I more of just caught you for like half a second before sliding you onto the floor, and you landed, really gracefully, like…a…cat, you know?" He realized what he said and flushed. "I-I meant—I'm really sorry if-if you're not a cat person, or—"

"You apologize too much," I said lightly. God, this boy was just so…naïve. "And thanks. I may have broken something if you hadn't absorbed some of the impact…I owe you."

Wait.

Wait a fucking moment.

He was at _Wammy's_.

"How—how'd you know I was here?" I questioned, my eyes wide. And that wasn't even voluntary, dammit.

"I...followed you," he admitted. "I just kind of wanted to see…what kind of place you lived in, and…Ah, I sound like a stalker now," he murmured, flushing even more. "But…an orphanage? Why'd you…lie?"

I decided to adopt the helpless girl kind of thing.

"Imagine you were me," I said in a quiet voice, lowering my eyes. When this was over, I could be a goddamn _actor_.

"I wouldn't have…judged you or anything," he said gently.

"Thanks," I said with a smile. And that wasn't fake, it was real—he didn't care if I was an orphan or not. "So, where's Mr. Romano and Mr. Goodman?"

He laughed nervously. "Funny story. Um, I kind of…"

"Lied?" I guessed. After a second of pissy-offness, I began laughing. He seemed relieved to see that I wasn't mad for _long_. "God, why?"

He looked down at the grass and kicked a stone. "I kind of…wanted to ask you out, but…I was just too…shy, and…I wasn't thinking, and…" He stopped and rolled his eyes. "My eloquence amazes me."

I laughed again, and started to walk to the gates that would get us away from here. I oh-so-casually slid my arms through his, so that our arms were intertwined. "So…Where to, Romeo?"

-:-

I held the gun steady and thanked my former gun training.

And I was _so_ glad my dress was easy to move in.

I didn't know how he knew that there was a carnival when I didn't, complete with a circus. But that didn't matter right now—my mission was to shoot the fuck out of the clown until his brain exploded.

Okay, I had to shoot a stream of water from a water gun into his mouth until his balloon exploded.

Too easy.

The Pikachu doll was surprisingly light when I handed it over to Matt.

"Isn't it traditional for the guy to win the girl something?" he questioned, although he _did_ take it. "I mean, it'd be embarrassing. It hurts my manly pride and all."

I burst out laughing—he was good at making me do that. "Don't worry; they'll probably assume you're carrying it _for_ me."

He laughed along. "You're the smartest person I've ever met, you know that?"

That was…the best compliment someone had paid me.

Meaning I actually _blushed_. Like an _idiot_. Which contrasted with the compliment he just paid me.

"thanks," I murmured, darting my eyes around to try to look for a distraction. "Look! Merry-go-round. We need to do something much more relaxing after all our exciting activities."

_God_, that sounded like an _innuendo_.

He didn't seem to notice.

There really must have been a God.

"Alright," he said, slipping my hand into his—he got over his shyness after two hours into our…meeting. No. Date?

No, no, no. Because I didn't like him that way, _right_?

…Pfft, I was shitting myself—I wanted to make out with him and tear his clothes off _right there_.

We stuck the smallish Pikachu doll into my quite large bag and boarded the merry-go-round, right next to each other. I chewed on a candy from the candy necklace he had bought me.

Obviously, it would have been weird to buy any form of jewelry other than the edible kind on the first date.

I gripped the pole that came through the horse and held on tight as the annoying music began, and the horse went up and down, up and down…

_Why_ did I keep getting sex thoughts?

In the Internetland, what I mentally did would have been called the facepalm.

Still, it felt…exhilarating. I hadn't been on one since I was a child, which I told Matt after.

"That was my first time, actually," Matt confessed.

"Then you lost your virginity," I said without thinking.

There was an awkward silence.

"Your merry-go-round virginity," I explained.

"Ah," he said, turning red again. I was glad I just turned a faint pink. "So, uh, want something to eat?"

If I didn't know I liked him, I would have said something like popsicles or a banana, but since I did, I asked for cotton candy.

Because, you know, I had to draw the line _somewhere_.

Ferris wheel—neither of us had a fear of heights.

Once it began again, the carnival decided to seem so goddamn _beautiful_ from up here.

"I didn't know if I could even tell you that I liked you or not," Matt began shyly, "because it was just more like I was curious about you, and attracted to you, than liking you for _you_. But then tonight… You're so fun, and fun_ny_, and a really sweet person. I find myself…really…_drawn _to you, and—"

He stopped abruptly—and I was brought out of my giddy_ yay yay yay he likes me for sure WOOT_ haze—by a sudden jolt. He looked down out the window, and I followed suit; we were at the very top, and the Ferris wheel had a technical malfunction that stopped this ride.

_Ride_. Everything seemed like an innuendo. Was there a psychological term for that? The Innuendo Complex?

_Yeah, it's called being a pervert, _genius_. _

_You're the one with the bad comebacks. _

_Because yours is soooo much better. Now stop thinking to yourself and concentrate on that goddamn hot redhead next to you_.

I followed suit.

"How long is this going to take?" I wondered out loud, looking over his shoulder in _just the right way_ so my hair brushed against his skin. I felt him shiver.

I hid my smirk.

"I-I think maybe…ten to fifteen minutes," he assumed, and sat back down.

I put my head on his shoulder.

To his blushing face I said, "What? I'm tired." And closed my eyes.

Being _soooo_ dominatrix, I felt some of the blood rush to my face before parting my lips _just a little bit_.

Then the ride started again.

Goddamn it.

I opened my eyes and sat up again to look outside. "The carnival seems to be slowly shutting down," I remarked. "How long were we here?"

"Six thirty to ten thirty, so about…four hours. Hm. It felt like two."

"Same here." I rubbed my eyes. "We can still spend like another hour together after this, right? If it's okay with you, that is," I added.

He tried to hide the way the corners of his lips went up, and failed. "Where to?"

-:-

We went to a park and got drunk and had drunken sex. And he was so drunk he didn't even remember I was a guy.

No.

This story is PG-13, people, not a dubious consent porn story.

We went to a late-night coffee shop and talked until one in the morning. That made it a roughly five and a half hours date. He didn't seem like it, but his logic and intelligence was just…wow. Not as great as mine, but he was still genius-level, probably.

When he told me that he went to _the_ technology school, that confirmed it—yeah, he was of genius level intellect.

Geniuses. Everywhere I went. Hm.

I stood up to open the windows more. "I didn't meet Mr. Romano and Mr. Goodman," I told Linda, still looking out the window, feeling that ridiculous feeling of my heart soaring whenever I thought of the night before.

Her eyebrows went up. "Oh? Then why'd you come home at two in the morning?"

It was an hour from the coffee shop to Wammy's.

"I had a date," I explained. And put my radio earphones in and drowned out Linda's oh-so-urgently-worried rant.

I was still on a cloud.

Which meant that gravity would pull me down again eventually, and I would fall _hard_.


	6. Gravity

_6. Gravity _

You just _know_ it won't be a good day if you wake up to screaming.

Okay, so maybe the screamer is Linda. And the reason for screaming is because a pretty blonde boy pretending to be a girl isn't getting out of bed, acting as if she is asleep, even if she's fully conscious.

But such is life.

Linda wasn't agreeing to accept it any time soon, though.

Near was also trying—and failing epically—at trying to hide a bemused, snarky, cheeky grin.

I made a mental note to hide three or two of his latest puzzle's pieces. I also strategically placed my pillow over my head. Because, you know, even if it didn't work, it totally pissed Linda off even more.

"I'm in a nightmare," I groaned, as Linda went silent to see if I was giving in yet, "where peace and calm are eaten by the Lindasaurus."

Linda was not amused.

Ripping the pillow off over my head, she kicked my bed. "You _know_ we have to wake you up earlier now. Training and all. You shouldn't have watched an entire season of _Merlin_ last night with that Mail person… I know he isn't a spy of Malia's, because he made it clear he hates her and likes you, but you shouldn't be slacking off when the pageant begins in three days."

" 'Pageant' is an ugly word. Use 'The Cause,'" I requested.

"Fine. 'The Cause.' It's in three days; shouldn't you be focusing?"

"Seriously, I don't know _why_ you're taking it so seriously," I laughed, but my humor faded away quickly when I saw how tired she seemed. She wasn't the peppy, slightly wacky artistic girl I knew her as right now. "Whoa. You okay?"

She knew I was concerned, and offered up a weak smile that wasn't going to cut it. "I'm fine. Be more worried about yourself. Keep up the optimistic attitude. Which is uncommon from you, actually."

"Blame Matt," I yawned while getting up and stretching. Linda…was tired. I probably wasn't half as tired as she was, and contrary to popular belief, I _was_ a nice and fair person. "What's the time?"

"Six," Near pitched in. "Linda and I spent all of last night thinking up a strategy for you to win."

"I am saying this again: you two are taking this _way_ too seriously." I attacked my cottony eyeballs with my fingers, rubbing them. "I suppose the spawns of the devil are at my door again, waiting for me to come out."

"The girls will be heartbroken when you come out of the closet," Linda giggled.

"I thought I did when I switched to leather and grew out my hair longer."

"What? Coming out of the closet or breaking their hearts?"

"The former." I lifted my arms to open the curtains. Damn the sun for being an earlier riser than I was. They really must have pampered me at the SPK headquarters or something.

No, The Cause schedule was just inhumanely hard.

"Anyhow," Linda sighed, "I had three hours of sleep, so I would appreciate it if you were a bit more cooperative with us."

I sat up completely, hands up, palms facing her. "Hey. Linda. Don't take this too seriously, okay? It's just a little dare slash bet Near and I are having—I honestly have no clue how the hell you were brought into this, because I don't really think I'm going to _win_."

She softened visibly; Near fidgeted. "Just _try_ to win. And honestly, you have the best chance of winning. Mello boy is still prettier—and even kinder—than Malia the girl."

Before I could ask why the _hell_ they were being to goddamn serious when I was just trying to have fun during The Cause, Near tossed me the phone. "Mail called last night," he reported, "or rather, early today. He said you left your socks with him?"

Linda's eyebrows. "You were at his _house_? With articles of clothing off?"

Pervert. "We were at the library. They had computers. Matt hacked the computer we were using so that we could watch the _Merlin_ episodes. And long story short, about the socks… We found out that sock puppets were quite entertaining. And _not _in that way," I added. "The library was open until two in the morning yesterday. Or rather, today."

"Well, you can't keep meeting with him when—"

I picked up a very soft rabbit doll. "This is Miss Rabbit. See Miss Rabbit?" I shook it a bit. "She approves of my very gay dates with Matt."

Linda glowered at it. "Not when Miss Rabbit is thrown into the furnace."

"Or the stocks," I offered with a wink.

Linda was smiling as she groaned now. "You're such a _dork_."

Near tried to keep him voice low, but his voice was one of those voices that just cut through any noise even if it was small. "Dork is a term that defines the whale penis."

Linda began to laugh loudly as I ducked my face into my pillow to muffle my laughter. "Where did _that_ come from?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Just a random fact I came upon while I was reading the dictionary. Trying to make Linda laugh."

Linda blushed suddenly at that. "Come on, Roger will think I killed you in the process of waking you up."

I had an idea.

Not a good thing.

To them, at least.

But before I could carry it out, Near opened my room door, signaling me to run like hell before my fan club found me.

I was ten steps into the hallway when the spawns of the devil found me. _Sweet_ spawns of the devil, but they were also _clingy_.

"Mello!"

The sound of ten pre-puberty voices saying one word—especially my name—was more ominous than you would have thought.

So was twenty hand clinging to every surface of my body, even if they were tactful enough to avoid a certain _private_ area.

I caught a glimpse of Near and Linda slipping into Roger's office while I was occupied with answering every question thrown at me.

_Traitors_.

I bet arranged my personal apocalypse themselves.

"Little ones," I nodded, setting of major giggles. I started to lead them into the movie room. "What are the plans for today?"

"Read us a story?" asked a four year old shyly. Any Wammy kid under the age of four was classified as "high potential," meaning they were two or more years ahead of their age and had, well, high potential.

"Boring," scoffed a seven year old, definitely considered "genius" now. "He should tell us how he brought Kira down!"

There was much agreement to that.

But I begged to differ.

"Maybe you should ask Near," I suggested gently. "He was there, too."

"But if he tells us, it won't be fun!" pouted a five year old with puffy pigtails.

"I'll tell you tonight," I promised, holding out my pinky while there was a small fight among the little ones to wrap their pinkies around mine first. "Hold on. Shouldn't you be in classes?"

Knowing that they'd been caught skipping by the person famous for going to classes sick, drunk, hungover, and crying, they scurried off quickly.

Heh. They weren't so bad.

I walked past Roger's office, assuming that they were in the dining rooms already, when I heard a familiar voice leaking from his door.

"He doesn't know _yet_, but—"

"No, Linda," said a very stern Mr. Roger. "Mello deserves to know why he has to win, and you must tell him today. You two have kept it long enough from him, and—"

I didn't hear anything after that because they stopped talking once I barged in loudly.

"Secrets kept from me," I announced, "makes me trigger-happy and violent. So unless _someone_ tells me what the _fuck_ is going on _right now_, I am going into my room and shooting the shit out furniture."

There was a lengthy pause.

"At least it's furniture and not the next living thing he sees," Linda mumbled. I glared at her pointedly.

"Sit down, Mello," Roger finally said.

I plopped down on the chair next to Near.

More silence.

"I didn't barge in here with a cutting threat to _sleep_ here," I said. "So, who's my first victim?"

"That'd be me," Near said. He paused. "Mello-dramatic."

I mentally facepalmed myself.

Linda and Roger visibly did.

"As you may know," Near continued, "L died in the hands of Kira during the first era of the Kira Case."

I nodded.

"When we carried on the case afterwards, we did so despite the fact that Wammy's did not want us to, in case we died as well. Wammy's did not contribute any help, especially funds. So any money we made from the Kira Case went to the Kira Case. After we arrived at Wammy's, we survived off the saved allowance Wammy's gave us before we decided we would work on the case, even if it would anger Wammy's." He stopped, and took a deep breath. "And…it's been a long time since anyone put any money into Wammy's."

I stopped breathing for a second, catching on. "Wammy's is…bankrupt?"

"We never would have thought that Watari's fortune would end so soon," Roger admitted, rubbing his face.

"If things continue as it is"—Near stood up and began pacing—"the orphans will have to be sent off to inappropriate institutions. There aren't enough funds to even end things correctly at Wammy's. But Mello, if you win, and get the fifty thousand pounds… That'd be just enough to send the orphans to genius orphanages that come second only to Wammy's." Near sat down again.

My pulse was stressed, but my body was calm—if you ignored my strong grip with my talons. The Near façade—when I seemed totally calm in the face of disaster—was a psychological thing I practiced when I went off into the Real World. It protected my mind from overworking, it kept me rational and logical even when I usually wasn't. It sprang up involuntarily when I was frightened to the brink of insanity, to keep me _from_ insanity.

"No one told me about this before. Why?" I asked blankly.

Linda and Roger seemed alarmed by my outer calm.

"We didn't want to force you to do anything," Near confessed.

Okay, the Near Façade was over, and I was _pissed_. "So you didn't bother telling me that the fuck had been going on? You've been manipulating me—_using_ me—while I blissfully and ignorantly carried out your plans?"

My voice rose with every word.

Linda winced. "We weren't trying to—" she started nervously.

"_Bullshit_," I barked. This time, _I_ was the one pacing. "If it had been anything personal that you needed to use me with, I would have understood. But this. _This_. The place I grew up in, the place that _is_ my parent, the place that made me who I am today, the place that the world as well as we have to thank with our whole hearts and more, is going to _end_, and the sake of our possible successors are at risk, you decide to not tell me a single fact?"

"Well, we—" Roger tried, but I cut him off.

Cutting people off was my forte.

Right after being a damn sexy bastard.

Right now, I was turning up the "bastard" component.

"Save it for the press, Roger," I snapped. I went to the door and opened it before turning to face the three of them. "Come on, Near, Linda." I began exiting as they followed. "We need to discuss this goddamn strategy."

-:-

"Modeling," Linda said, slapping down three DVDs. "These are recordings of the last three fashion weeks. Except for this one." She pointed out a single blue DVD case. "This one is just three supermodels that reminded me of you: Gemma Ward, Agyness Deyn, and Heidi Klum."

I nodded, wondering who the hell these people were.

I also wondered why Kate Moss wasn't among them.

"And see this?" She picked up a bottle of water. "Water. The only drink you're allowed to have. Take garlic and papaya pills before every meal, too. All that chocolate made you gain some weight."

I lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't know 'anorexic' was in."

Because I was a women's size two right now.

"I _know_ you went up a size," she scowled. "Just take them, okay?"

I gave in. "Fine. What else?"

"Trivia and interview. Well, too easy. Next is…talent." She nibbled on her lower lip. "Any ideas?"

"I _was_ thinking pole dancing," I admitted with a cute little smile, "until I realized how _serious_ this was."

Linda and Near both seemed guilty. Near really was set on being more humane.

"I don't have a clue," I sighed.

"Maybe the basics? Singing and dancing?"

I glowered at her. "I don't do any dancing besides club dancing and strip teasing."

Linda smacked her head with a pillow.

"What kind of music do you even listen to?" Near wondered out loud.

"What do you assume?"

"…rock. Heavy metal."

"Bingo." I closed my eyes.

"Bombs are heavy," Near muttered.

My eyes snapped open. "So's you ego."

"So's your mom's ego," he said effortlessly.

That was just much too, too bizarre.

"Late night TV," Near explained.

"Figures. Do you sleep at all now?"

"Not if I can help it."

"What about Danielle?" Linda offered. "She was the Wammy kid that was the really amazing actress? She's a drama teacher now, and she's a close friend."

"Mello doesn't need to learn more about drama," Near insisted.

I ignored him.

"Oh yeah, I remember her. You held my arms behind my back while she tried to kiss me," I moaned. "Her scar never quite faded."

"It's still there. You bit her quite hard."

Near looked at us questioningly.

"You were too young to remember," Linda said.

"He's older than you, _genius_," I retorted. "He wasn't _here_ when this happened."

Linda visibly resigned. "Well, no one's going to be _here_ for long."

We became serious again.

"L's death left more problems than we had thought," Near mused out loud.

"Sometimes," I said quietly, closing my eyes, "I think he died just to leave us these problems. To laugh at us."

"That isn't true. He cared for us," Near countered.

"Did he?" I challenged. "We never saw him face to face, only that one time when he looked at us through a camera and we could ask him that one question through the computer. We didn't even ask our question, Near. How can you care for someone you never physically met?"  
"He and I did," Near glared. "Everyone else was asleep except for me and you. I was having nightmares, and you were studying. He saw you and said—"

"I don't want to talk about him," I shouted.

Talk about L.

Talk about a fallen idol.

Talk about a hope that never existed.

Talk about someone that I still loved reluctantly, because he had been my sole fuel to keep me going, the sole reason I was who I was today—someone I was proud of.

Pushing those thoughts aside, I shoved my fringe off my eyes. "I should get started on those DVDs."

-:-

I passed the toy room—which really should have been called the Near Dedication Room—when I did a double take.

In the moonlight, Near's hair and skin seemed to be translucent. Tiny Near was on a chair, with tinier Linda on his lap, facing him.

He put his right hand on the back of her head, and his left hand on the small of her back before hesitantly chastely pressing his lips to hers.

From far away, they looked like children.

I slinked away, knowing I had seen too much, and decided to keep their little secret.

-:-

I saw models catwalking for _weeks_ in my head.

I won't reveal how The Cause ended…just yet.

Stay patient.

**I'm sorry this took so long! I moved back to Korea after a lovely 8 years in America. **

**Go to my LJ if you wanna know more. Yes, I am shamelessly pimping my own blog. xD **

**Review?**

**Also, thanks to those even to those who don't review but adds this to alerts. You guys enhanced my time in America!!! **


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